who needs enemies (with friends like these)
by whimsycality
Summary: Alcohol and gag gifts. Or, how to say goodbye.


A week after the battle with Saren and the Council is banishing her to the fringes of settled space to hunt for Geth instead of the Reapers Shepard knows they still don't, _won't_ believe in.

It's frustrating, but it's better than sitting around doing nothing, so she's doing her best to summon the pragmatic cheer that's gotten her through every setback and disaster in her career with the Alliance.

The worst part are the goodbyes. Wrex, Garrus, and Tali, are all returning to the lives they had before Saren—although they've all vowed to do what they can to help her fight an enemy no one else believes in.

Liara is the only one staying and the reminder makes Shepard smile despite herself as she stalks down the corridor away from Udina's office. She never thought she'd find someone like the Asari. Brilliant and endlessly fascinated by the secrets of the past, as competent in battle as she is in her studies, and sweet and awkward in expressing her affections anywhere except the bedroom, where the sweetness becomes enthusiasm and the awkwardness is consumed by passion.

She hadn't planned to let anyone in that close, had avoided all but the most shallow—if satisfying—encounters. But Liara is wrapped around all parts of her now, and Shepard is very, very glad, that she doesn't have to let go.

Avoiding eye contact with everyone she can—fans, well wishers, and the grief-stricken alike—she slips into a miraculously still-working elevator. It leads toward the apartments where Anderson has her set up until the Normandy's reassignment is official. No one follows her and she lets out a sigh of relief as she leans her head back against the cool metal wall.

The destruction of the Citadel is hard to fathom. More so for those who have lived here for longer than humans have been aware of its existence. And the part she played in it has given her more attention than she knows how to deal with. It was bad enough when every third person she met greeted her with a reminder of Akuze and her famous ability for survival.

Now they are either in awe of her defeat of Saren, grateful for the part she played in saving the Citadel, or furious that she hadn't saved the Council.

She's not sure which reaction she likes least, and has begun to seriously consider some of the various face-altering technologies available on the Citadel.

Nothing permanent, but damn she could use an anonymous night out on the town. Drinking alone lost its appeal years ago, and drinking with her lover—whose low alcohol tolerance is endlessly endearing—is a different kind of pleasure from a rowdy night at the bar.

The elevator finally stops and she resists the urge to peek into the hallway to see if it's clear. She strides toward her door with confidence that is only feigned in part, and feels the tight muscles in her shoulders relax as soon as the door to her apartment slides open.

"Surprise!" A cacophony of voices raises, underlain by Wrex's grunting laugh, and it takes every ounce of control she has to not spring into a defensive crouch.

Once her heart has stopped racing, she flips them all off with a wide grin. "Y'all are lucky I don't carry my gun when I visit Udina."

"Afraid you'll shoot him?" Ashley asks, lips twisted wryly, and Shepard snorts.

"Something like that."

Liara is there at her shoulder, handing her a drink with a wide smile that is almost as intoxicating as she knows the bright blue liquor will be. Joker toasts her from his spot on one of the two couches, and Garrus and Tali are sharing a bright orange bottle of their own.

It's her crew, her family, and she blinks back the sudden sting of tears because tonight she only wants laughter.

Later, after enough alcohol to make her edges duller and her smiles easier, she pouts as complaints about her driving fill the air. "It's not my fault that so many planets are nothing but mountain ranges," Shepard protests with a huffing laugh. "Mindoir was flat. Flat is good."

"Is that what you tell yourself, Commander?" Joker teases, with a pointed look her chest.

"Mountain planets. Mountains and high gravity, that's what it will say in your transfer recommendation," she informs him with vicious cheer.

"See the abuse I put up with?" he complains, eyes twinkling as everyone else laughs.

"You're all wrong. Shepard's driving is exhilarating," Wrex says, baring his teeth in a grin that's been the last sight of more sentient beings than Shepard can count.

Her mouth curves into a smirk and she tips her glass in his direction. "And that's why you're my favorite, Wrex."

Liara, curled up next to her on the couch, leans in and places one hand on Shepard's jaw. She pulls her in for a kiss that lingers, hot and dirty, before pulling away with one last nip at Shepard's bottom lip. Joker and Ashley are cheering and Wrex's grunting laugh is mixing with Garrus' low chuckle and Tali's embarrassed giggle. "Are you sure he's your favorite?" Liara asks, unexpectedly coy, and Shepard kisses her again before pulling away to wink at the krogan.

"Sorry, Wrex, you're my second favorite."

"We got you a present, Shepard," Garrus says after the ensuing jeers and laughter have faded, lifting up a small, brightly wrapped package. Wrex is grinning again and Tali is trying to pretend she's not laughing. Liara is a pleasantly warm and drunk weight leaning into her side, her eyes bright with happiness. Joker and Ashley are leaning against in each other in a companionable drunken pile on the opposite couch, their smiles wicked.

She stares at the present warily, not trusting any of them farther than she can throw them. Garrus waves it in her face until she takes it with a huff, then treats them all to a squinty-eyed glare. "If this explodes, I'm sending you all to Chakwas for physicals. Very thorough, invasive physicals."

Smirks and taunting laughter are the only response she gets, so she gives in and rips off the iridescent paper, handing it to Liara who seems fascinated by the shine and color.

It's a desk game, the kind you see in Corporate offices at places less uptight than Noveria. She stares down at the small contraption of metal and plastic, her thumb tracing the words spelled out on the side in garish green paint. _The Original Whack-a-Thresher-Maw!_

There is a hushed sort of silence, all sounds of merriment muffled as they wait for her reaction.

"You assholes," she finally says, laughter bubbling out of her as she looks up at them, her cheeks sore from how wide she's smiling.

She's going to leave them all on a mountain planet.

She doesn't bother saying the threat out loud, they'll all know she's lying.

* * *

 **AN:** Sole survivor background, of course, or they wouldn't be nearly as big of assholes.


End file.
